


Adiabatic

by Everlind



Series: Young Folks verse [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Biting, Humanstuck, Light breathplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Sloppy Makeouts, very mild though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Adiabatic</b>- changes in temperature caused by the expansion (cooling) or compression (warming) of a body of air as it rises or descends in the atmosphere.</p><p>"Bed," you growl at him, nudging at his shoulders.</p><p>"Fucking finally," he mumbles.</p><p>Brat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adiabatic

**Author's Note:**

> Due to a lack of candy, have gratuitous porn. Happy Halloween!

The sight of John on his knees before you will never fail to make you suck up your bullshit quick enough to nearly choke on it, but fuck it, he's got no right to look the way he does. Lip sucked under in unwarranted concentration just to slide your belt out of the buckle, intent and focussed like it's a goddamn exam he's taking. 

Tugging the belt out of the loops with one firm flick, he tosses it carelessly behind him. Fingers go to the button of your jeans and stop there. John looks up at you, teeth pinning down his lower lip. Fuck. Oh damn, shit, shit, _shit_ \--

The sheets bunch between your furiously clenching fingers.

There's no words for this, this --the soft rosy spill of the sundown through the blinds setting golden dust motes dancing against the black of his hair or John on his knees with those blue eyes lifted up to you, and he looks-- fey. Other. Windswept wild hair and the body he's still growing into, fuck, he smells so. damn. good. Like soap and fresh air and _boy_ , John, yours.

You hiss as he begins popping buttons, knuckles glancing across your dick. You stand and he scoots back. As soon as the fabric of your jeans eases open he raises himself a little so he can press his lips at the edge of your boxers, before lowering himself to kiss you through your underwear. John's _good_ at this. Sucking cock. Your cock. Likes doing it, too. Impatient for it, even, already drawing your boxers down so they drop around your ankles along with your pants, helping you step out of them. The way he kisses your thighs and drags his fingers up and down the muscles of your calves -lightly, ticklish- it's. It makes you feel both terribly small and larger than life.

He deliberately exhales against you, making your cock jump and shivers run down your spine. Shoulders roll and tense as he tries to work a hand down the front of his pants to get at his own.

"No hands," you chide.

That draws out a soft, throaty noise in response (god fuck so gorgeous), but he obediently rests them back on his thighs. Parts his lips, raises up. Angles his head and leans in. Frowns and sits back down on his heels because he can't properly get his mouth around you like this, your dick resting flush along your left hip. Looks up at you with a pointed _what now, genius?_ on his face.

Touching his chin, you guide his head forward just a bit. "Come on."

After a moment's consideration he tilts his head sharply and catches the underside of your cock between parted lips to drag a lazy, suckling kiss all the way up to the tip, where the breadth of his tongue pauses to lick at the head, catch it flush against your belly. 

John's name is on your hissing exhale as your head tips back. Everything bleeds away into pleasure, your chest light and airy. It's just you and John here, even as you can hear people move around beyond the door of your room, proof that the world keeps spinning. You can feel him lapping at you, soft wet strokes alternating between warm and cold as he lifts away before going back. It's good, but you decide to help him out. You get a handful of hair to hold him back for a second. Even that makes him whine softly, but seeing you holding yourself steady for him shuts him up and then he's wrapping his lips around you. Feeling him raise his tongue to lave at the head, the rest of his mouth nearly slack draws low, hard moan from you. After breathlessly staring down at him you pick up on your cue and carefully push deeper, keeping your hand in his hair to help him along. It _feels amazing_ and fuck, fuck, he _looks amazing_ with your dick in his mouth. 

You've got both hands cupping his face as you thrust in and out of his mouth by the time you can taste your approaching orgasm behind your teeth, all shuddery energy clotting along the inside of your spine. Almost too far gone now, close enough it aches, but with a surge of willpower you stop him. He comes off your dick with a moist little noise, face flushed pink and his lips swollen and wet,  with the head of your dick resting against the soft padding of his lower lip. John tucks his face against your lower belly to catch his breath and you comb his hair away from his forehead with the tips of your fingers.

"C'mere," you murmur, helping him up. He's unsteady enough he needs a hand at his face so you can kiss him. "That was wonderful," you whisper against the corner of his mouth, feeling the line of his back hollow towards you under your palm.

"Yeah?" John asks, lips curling into a small smile.

"Yeah," you tell him, kneading the back of his neck. "Everything alright?"

A little nod as he searches for your mouth with his. It's warm, lips swollen as lingers over the small scar you have.

"Can I take off your glasses?" you manage between kisses.

Another small nod. "They're all smudged now anyway," he mutters and you snort. "S'all your fault."

"Like you weren't enjoying yourself down there," you point out, leaning back to lift his glasses away and set them aside.

John blinks muzzily as everything goes blurry for him, it's incorrigibly cute when his lips are raw from sucking your cock, so you kiss him some more, using your thumb to ease his mouth open. You make it slow and languid, drawing the noises right out of his mouth. Lowering your hands you set to getting him out of his jeans. He hisses when you push everything down his bony hips, trips out of them and nearly brains himself on your shoulder in his hurry to get rid of them (thank hell you just took his glasses off, the dumbass).

And then he's against you, cock hard and nearly searing against your stomach as he tries to get some much needed relief in. There's a hand on your ass and another clutching your bicep as he presses himself against you and teeth at your lips and it's so fucking tempting to just let him rock himself to completion like this, standing in the middle of your room holding on to him, skin to skin.

Fuck. Exhale. Yeah, okay.

"Bed," you growl at him, nudging at his shoulders.

"Fucking finally," he mumbles.

Brat.

You swipe at the back of his head, shove him so he faceplants with a grunt into your sheets, make sure you smother him with your body before he gets any ideas. He manages to squirm onto his back before you track down both his wrists and pin them above his head. Of course he needs to try, muscles flexing where your balls are pillowed on his belly (yeah, okay, that's a really fucking weird feeling) and he even manages to lift you, before flopping back down with a huff. Hah- _ha_. Like you wouldn't know better to make sure the angle would put too much strain on his elbows and shoulders to do so. Smirking, you drag your thumbs over the pulse points in his wrists. His chest hitches. Shift to lie down and roll your body into him to watch his lashes flutter. Stupid, gorgeous idiot. Dammit, he fucking terrifies you. Again, dragging your length along his and watching the breath stutter out of him and his head fall back into the mussed sheets, baring a long line of pale neck.

"Karkat _please_ ," it's a wrenching sob, needy and perfect, you fucking love it and - _fffff--uCK_ \- his thighs wrap instinctively around your hips.

And.

Wow.

That's. That's yeah. You can count on one hand the times you got to fuck him and still not need all fingers. You don't mind, you really fucking don't, how could you when you have _this_ , but surely nobody can fucking blame you when you've got him under you on his back with those long amazing legs around your waist. 

You swallow, peer into his face. "Can we-" you trail off, because, well, tremendously awkward question is really goddamn tremendously awkward and potentially boner-killing.

But it's like a code word by now and John nods, going red in the face from more than arousal. Even his ears glow. "I showered earlier," he confesses.

Ah. 

 _Ah_. 

You grin, nosing against the edge of his jaw. Nibble at it. "Sounds like you were looking to get fucked," you point out, smug.

"H-hey!" John protests, but it falls into a groan when you lick at his mouth.

"Do you want me to?"

The blush crawls down from his face to stain his collarbones. He glares at you. So you bite him. Hard. His yelp is shocked and ragged. You can feel his dick twitch between your abdomens. 

"Fuck, dammit, _haaAA_ -" 

"Didn't hear you," you say, lifting your head from his neck to inspect your handiwork. No response. " _John_." 

"I-" Gasp because you nip at the already forming bruise. "I, yes!"

"Yes, what? Can't fucking hear you."

"Please, yes. I," again he chokes. You normally never push, ever. You get that this is a little scary for him and he's never really seemed to enjoyed getting fucked as much as you do, but. You're beginning to think that. Well. He needs you to? Push. Just enough so he can get past his last hang ups. You're not sure if this is you being a selfish piece of shit (and if it turns out to be that, you're going to cheerfully disembowel yourself) and projecting your hopes, because to be honest, John's absolutely great about sex. Just not so much about the actual you sticking your dick in his ass-part. He'll let you. And he'll freeze. Every single time. That's okay. But looking at him under you, flushed and needy and arching. Well. Swallowing, you remind yourself you've both got a safe word. Right. Okay. God.

You kiss him, hard, hungry, lapping into his mouth when his lips part. When he's thoroughly breathless, voice creeping into his exhales, you pull back. He licks his lips, pants, licks them again. Ngh.

"John," you try to get his attention. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

He nods convulsively. You don't move, leaning over him still, stretching his arms high. His fingers open and close uselessly. Your bangs trail into his hair. Black on black and yet different as you breathe each other in. Wait.

Suddenly, like a gust of wind violently uprooting a tree, he cracks. "Yes, please. Please, Karkat, please _fuck me_."

Murmuring mindless praise, you peck him chastely. As you lever yourself off him, a thread precum connects his stomach to yours before disconnecting, pooling into his navel. He chokes when you palm his cock soothingly, scrabbling at your shoulders.

You put him on his knees, encouraging him to brace against the headboard. It's getting dark enough outside to paint bars of shadowy light along the line of John's back, shifting as he pants, head hanging low between his bunched shoulders. He shudders when you touch slick fingers against ass. You pet his taut belly, cup his dick (he's so hard it must hurt, fuck) as you work the pad of your thumb over his hole. John tenses when push into him and you whisper reassurances between his shoulder blades. You don't draw it out any longer than you need to, he's not very wild about being fingered. So you just make sure you won't hurt him, working him open, while your other hand works on his cock, sometimes dipping further back to palm his balls and back again until you're absolutely sure he's good to go.

John's breathing echoes through the room, strung-out on sensation as you get a condom on. His skin burns as you drape yourself over his back.

"Yes?" you breathe against his nape.

A nod, head hanging limp, bracketed by his arms.

"John."

"Yeah," he agrees.

Leaving a kiss against the upper vertebrae of his spine, you take his left hip into your hand, use the other to line up. After a moment you let go of his hip so you can grip his buttock, part him better. As you breach him a drop of swear trickles down the valley of his back and- oh _fuck_ , that's a moan. Shaky and thready and unsure, but there as you press deeper and back again, slowly inch by inch and careful, so very fucking careful.

He keens brokenly when your hips are flush with his ass and you pet his flanks, from his trim waist to his wide shoulders and he's perfect, so damnably perfect and _yours_ and needy and wanting when he chokes out your name, you feel like you could fucking die from it.

And then you just. Fuck him against the headboard, lifting your own hand and lacing your fingers with his over the metal rung, admiring how his pale skin glows in flashes between your own dark ones.

"Fuck, John," you grit out.

An airy laugh, the only evidence the rhythmic hitching shoulders. "I thought we were," he answers.

You nip at his shoulder in retaliation and wind both arms around him. When he actually begins to rock back against you you think, _yes, that's it_. All you want is to _fuck_ him,  hard enough until he's screaming for it, can't think and just take it, but above all you want him to enjoy it, _like_ it, and not hurt him. He's doing so well, making these low noises that ring gorgeously with your own, so perfect, that when he freezes it rather appears to take both of you by surprise.

"Karkat. I- I don't think-" he stammers, going rigid against your front.

"Shh," you croon at him. "Calm down. John, I'm not going to hurt you."

"But I-"

"Does it hurt?"

" _No_ , I just, I don't-"

"Trust me," you plead.

He's silent for a moment, drawn, shoulder blades jutting at you defensively like blades. You push in, gently, angling the way you where and he actually _screams_. You get it, then. John only confirms it when he grits out: "It's too much."

You slide flush against him so you can get at his cheek. Kiss it, a little awkward, because he's taller. His face is ruddy red with color. "Tell me to stop and I will. I promise. But. Give it a try?"

"Okay," he whispers, sounding small and unsure and maybe even a little worried.

You don't give him the time to get apprehensive, just draw back and make sure to rake the head of your cock at a slightly shallower angle towards his pelvis. John goes ' _hah!_ ' and arches under you. You do it again and again until it becomes urgent rather than shocked, until his arm loops back to clench into your hair, effectively anchoring your face against his throat and _yesssss._ In response you catch his chin and throat with the webbing between your thumb and index finger, coaxing his head back far enough so his exhales grow pitched, airy and you can _just_ peer over his shoulder down the font of his torso. His dick is heavy and flushed, slick enough for you to see it and you were _right_.

He's feverishly hot and _loud_ , moaning low and hard, noisy and needy. You splay your hand over his stomach, enjoying his muscles tensing as you roll your hips into him, deeper and then harder and then it's your name he's saying, desperate, and you feel him clench down until you can barely move.

John cries, back bowing. He's _coming_ so you slide your hand away from his throat to let him breathe.

You didn't even have to touch him, fuck, _yes_ , you get skin between your teeth and pick up the pace, fuck him hard even as he's shuddering through his aftershocks, John's low and gritty ' _haaaa, haaaa, haaaa_ 's egging you on. When you come he feels it, head tipping back once more to rest against the edge of your jaw, you can smell him, John and sex and you all over him and it's fucking beautiful.

It's done. You can't believe it, John's back still hollowed and yours rounded to press your face between the flare of his shoulder blades. His skin is slick, feverish.

John's still breathing hard, sucking in air hard as you pry his hands from the headboard, before pulling out. It gets a hiss and you're not enough of a dumb fuck to believe he won't be sore, but. It might have been worth it, this time, for him. 

Your dick is covered with frothy jizz when you get the condom of, absolutely disgusting, so you get some tissues to clean yourself and John up as best as you can, before wrapping yourself around him, pushing your face into his hair.

You're exhausted, both physically and mentally and you ache to just drift off with the warm weight of him lulling you.

John first, though.

"Hey," you say with a nuzzle against his temple. "Okay?"

Allowing him the time to compose himself and lift his face from your chest, he nods. "Yeah," he assures you, smiling. His lashes are clumped together, catch glints of low light and something your chest turns over but it's good, it is painful but good and you kiss his mouth softly. Need two, three, four lingering after-pecks before you can pull away entirely. It's a bit of a struggle to get the blankets up and over you, covering John's skin already pricked in goosebumps. Run your palms down his arms to make sure he's warm. Hum when he kisses your face, shifting closer.

You can taste the force of your sex, it's a buzzing presence at the crest of your hips and the backs of your teeth and John _came_. He came, for the first time, because you _fucked_ him. Aw yeah, you are king of everything, everybody can just go fucking home and cry. Hell yes.

"Smug bastard," John points out, catching your expression, but he's grinning a little himself. A little dazed, still. Fuck-dazed. Ngh. "Karkat?"

"Hm?" you go, smoothing a finger along the wet fringe of his lashes.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

"I'll _bet_." 

You can't help but laugh (low and jagged and horrible as it always sounds but genuine) and after a second John joins in, fast huffs against the front of your throat as he settles down there. You drag fingers through the disaster of his hair, massage the small of his back until the rise and fall of his chest goes heavy and slow.

Through the gaps of your blinds you can glimpse a few lost stars. The night sky is clear, stripped naked by roiling winds swallowing everything up and down, before whisking it away to leave it nice and clean.

It's the last thing you know before following John into sleep. 


End file.
